


This Woman's Work

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Community: girlsavesboyfic, Explosions, F/M, Female Character In Command, Saving the World, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiona saves Sam and the world.  And Michael even gets to hold her purse!</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Woman's Work

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Girl Saves Boy Fest in 2011. Thanks to Amber for Beta!

Fiona stared at the stockpile of C4 that occupied the corner of her room. She checked and double-checked the cakes of white plastic twice more, and couldn’t help but notice that something was missing. She’d put a hundred cakes up to dry yesterday and someone, somehow, had pinched two of them.

“Honestly. The rudeness of some people.” Sam probably took them – no, he would have left a cheery little IOU. It had to be Jesse, then. Hadn’t she taught that boy enough about manners in the past year?

She rolled her eyes as the cellphone she’d clipped to her belt loop buzzed to life. “If you’re not dead, Michael,” she snarled, yanking it to her eat, “you will be by the time I get to the loft.”

“Fi!” he barked. “We have a situation.”

When did they not have a problem brewing? She grabbed two bricks of explosives and shoved them into a large brown purse. “Where do you need me?”

“Coconut Grove,” he said. “They’ve got Sam. It’s the Columbian cartel…”

“Don’t explain,” she said, shoving her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be there in two minutes – then you can tell me over a bloody mary.”

“Fi! Sam could be…”

“They’re not going to hurt Sam,” she said, quite calmly. “Because we’re going to hurt them before they do.”

“Where do you get your confidence from, Fiona?” Michael grumbled.

“Myself, Michael,” she replied, rolling her eyes and hanging up the phone.

***

She found Michael sitting in the Charger, collected and cool of expression even though his sunglasses bore a distinctive dent in the center and his hand was dripping blood. He cleaned beneath his nails as he watched her arrival, calm and even of gaze. She automatically reached for and checked his wound, a habit they had established years ago.

“We’re going to find him,” Fiona declared. “All we need to do is follow the tracker.”

“Sam has a tracker?”

She sighed. “Darling, Sam’s Navy. He knows how to keep his nose clean. And we put a tracker in his new Bentley, the black one he got from that awful woman with the violet hair…”

Michael winced. “I’m just worried about him, Fi.”

“I’m not,” she scoffed. “He won’t end up on the end of a hook.” She grabbed Michael’s tie and started staunching the wound with it. “You’re both experts, and so am I. Stop ac ting like a ninny.”

“They were Columbian drug lords with sub-atomic machine guns,” Michael replied. “I’m being practical.”

“A practical ninny.” She patted his wound and tied it twice around his hand before wheeling around and checking her line of sight. “All right,” she said, quite practically. “We need to find out how the tracking device is working…” She led Michael to her Hyundai, where she had a transmitter. Fiddling with the digital line, she managed to pull up a faint signal still beaming from Sam’s Bentley. “He’s heading east,” she said, pumping her gas pedal. “Fifteen miles that way.”

“You’re going to make me chase you,” Michael complained, but he knew her very well – he backed away from the car as she put it in reverse.

“Only if you can’t keep up with me, Michael.” She smirked as she put the car in high gear. “And we both knew you can.”

With that she left him sputtering in the dust.

***

No one was a better driver than Fiona Glenanne when she was under pressure. Hairpin turns were her subordinates. She ended up outside of the correct warehouse within minutes, and by the time Michael had pulled up she was already smudging her lipstick and mussing her hair.

“Are…you going to need my help at all for this?” Michael wondered, watching as Fiona applied a layer of lipstick to her already-glossed mouth.

“Why of course, Michael,” she replied sweetly, and then held out her purse. “You can hold this.”

Michael frowned. Taking her bag, he abruptly swept her close to his body and gave Fiona a quick kiss. “Be careful, Fiona. Stay safe.”

“Of course,” she scoffed, and then trotted toward the warehouse door, her outfit in total disarray.

She played the drunken, lost sorority type, confusing and dazzling both guards, and actually managed to convince them with her words and innocent demeanor that she’d just be fine, if only they’d get her a glass of water.

The following fifteen minutes were simply a matter of blowing the doors in with C4 and taking out two of the guards with her HK.

Sam squirmed as she unlocked his cuffs with a hairpin. “Shoulda known it was you raising hell out there.”

“You owe me a beer,” she declared.

He smirked and kissed her cheek. “Anything you want, lady. Let’s grab the stash and blow this joint.”

Something she did quite literally, while Michael gaped at her, holding her purse.

For Fiona, making it out of there with an intact best friend and well-buffed shoes was a victory. Later finding out that the case of drugs they’d stolen were a prototypical attempt at enslaving the world and that she’d likely saved hundreds from an early death was simply icing on the cake.


End file.
